On a Cold Night
by LionRoaR
Summary: Mariel Hawke never wanted the burden of her magic. Never expected to hold thousands of lives in her hands. Never wanted to be the force behind a revolution. All Mariel has ever wanted is a normal life. And when she meets a tormented fugitive with a forgotten past and a grudge against her kind, more than ever Mariel wishes she could leave it all behind, even for just one night.
1. Chapter One: Falls Apart

Author's Preface: This chapter is inspired by the song "Falls Apart" by Thousand Foot Krutch. For a standard disclaimer, I do not own any rights to Dragon Age, its plot or characters. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **On a Cold Night**

 **Chapter One**

 _It falls apart from the very start_

 _It falls apart, seems like everything I touch_

 _ **Falls apart**_

On the horizon, flames licked the tops of the trees and send birds scurrying into the air. Even from this distance, the wind carried a putrid smell from the south, unnecessary proof that the news brought to Lothering was true: King Cailan's forces had failed to stop the darkspawn at Ostagar, and now the horde was on its way here. Mariel's hand gripped the side of the bridge until her knuckles turned almost white. Her teeth dug into the soft flesh inside her lips, worn thin, it seemed, by her constant worrying.

"Do you see anything?" Bethany's soft voice carried up to Mariel from where she perched. Glancing over her shoulder, Mariel saw Bethany staring up at her, gold-brown eyes alight with anxiety.

"No." The word felt cold and heavy on Mariel's lips. With a sigh she grabbed onto the edge of the bridge and swung her legs down, holding herself with her ankles dangling until she was sure she was as close to the ground as possible. Then she let go and felt a powerful jolt run through her legs to her knees when she landed beside her sister.

Bethany shook her head. Her eyes were bright with fear. "We can't keep waiting like this, Mariel. I… I know you don't want to give up hope, but if we stay longer, we won't be able to escape."

Resisting the urge to scream, Mariel ran a hand through her thick hair, which drooped about her shoulders in luscious waves, and she sighed. "What if Carver survived?" she asked in a low voice. Her piercing grey eyes flickered as she turned them on Bethany. "Would you have me abandon him to his fate at the hands of the darkspawn?"

"No," Bethany said without hesitation. For a moment her expression was spirited, stubborn, bright—all the things Mariel knew her sister to be. Then it crumpled, and the sadness in her sister's face was like an anchor weighing down Mariel's heart until it felt as if it would sink beneath her feet into the hard ground. "But if we don't go, we'll meet the same fate, won't we? What about Mother?"

As her fingers curled into fists at her sides, Mariel glanced over her shoulder. Somewhere out there her baby brother could still be alive. Could be hurt, limping at the back of the crowd who had fled Ostagar after the disastrous battle there. Why had he followed the king there in the first place? She'd told him not to. Mother had begged him to stay. But the boy could be so damn stubborn. So determined to prove himself, profoundly convinced as he was in his own insufficiency compared to his sisters. Pain stabbed through Mariel's chest. _Oh, Carver,_ she thought sadly. _Stupid, stupid Carver. You had nothing to prove to anyone—least of all to me._

"Come on," Bethany said as she placed a hand on Mariel's shoulder. "Let's go home."

Home. The word rang hollow now that a darkspawn horde hung on the horizon, burning and pillaging and killing as they went. What was _home_ in the face of such a threat?

Running at her sister's heels, Mariel was only steps behind Bethany when she burst into their house. Mother stood in the foyer, and beside her was the last person Mariel expected to see.

"Carver?" Her heart sped up in her chest as a burst of joy and relief filled her being. "You're alive!"

"Not for long if we stay here," Carver said gravely.

 _So much for a warm family reunion_ , Mariel thought. That could wait, she supposed. Throwing a glance at Bethany, Mariel said, "Go get Father's things. We're leaving."

Bethany nodded and ran towards the cellar. Looking after her, Carver scowled. His reaction was typical—and unnecessary. Mariel resisted the urge to pick a fight about it, though, as she often had to. Her brother had his own burdens to deal with, and it wasn't her place to solve all of his problems, no matter how much she might want to do so.

"We don't get far loaded down, so only take what we need," Mariel said with a stern look in her mother's direction. She knew Mother was overly fond of _things_. There were many memories attached to the various trappings of this house, and Leandra would be loath to leave any of them behind. Perhaps if they had left sooner they could have salvaged some of it, but with Carver only showing up now…

"Where have you been, Carver?" Mariel demanded as her Mother scurried away to gather whatever trinkets she couldn't bear to leave behind.

Glancing at her coldly, Carver crossed his arms over his chest. "I ran straight from Ostagar, but I had to be careful. The darkspawn are everywhere."

A jolt of fear pierced Mariel from head to toe. "Does that mean… Is this a Blight?" The idea was a terrifying one to contemplate—the terrible scourges of old were household stories, of course, but none of them had witnessed the devastation caused by the darkspawn when an archdemon stood at the head of their horde. Seeing the razed fields and burning forests for themselves suddenly made legend and history into reality, and it was not a pleasant reality to face.

"If it isn't a Blight, I'd hate to see the difference," Carver muttered.

Mariel turned when she heard Bethany returning from the cellar. Her sister had a bundle of things in her hand, as well as two staves tucked into the crook of one elbow. Without hesitation, Mariel gathered up the pack of potions and supplies and slung it over her shoulders. Then she accepted one of the staves, a slender, gold staff with a figure of Andraste at the top. As her fingers clasped around the cool, latticed shaft of the weapon, Mariel heard barking and turned to see the family mabari, Quip, chasing Mother's heels as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Are you ready, Mother?" Mariel asked.

"Isn't there anything you want to bring, Dear?" Leandra's face was crestfallen. She clutched a small pouch to her chest—a sensible number of items, much to Mariel's relief. Though she couldn't see from where she stood, Mariel could hear the trembling in her mother's voice and knew she was shaking, terrified.

"No, nothing," Mariel said. Her grip tightened around her father's staff. Out of all the material things she had in this world, it was the only memento she wished to hold onto. The rest… she would leave to the darkspawn.

"Let's go," Bethany said. No one argued with her—they all knew it was imperative they left while they still could.

As Mariel led the way out of the house, Quip began barking wildly. Whipping her head around, Mariel saw a group of darkspawn racing after a few other villagers who had stayed behind to wait for family—family who, unlike Carver, would never return from Ostagar. Two of the hurlocks noticed Mariel, and they turned their steps towards her, keeping their curved blades held menacingly over their heads.

Swinging her staff around, Mariel called up the power that rested inside of her, a pool disturbed into ripples that fed into her weapon and burst from its tip in concentrated bolts of light. She heard Bethany wielding bursts of flames at her side, each bolt catching onto a bit of the hurlock's flesh or clothes and igniting it.

Carver charged forward at another of the beasts, bringing his huge sword swooping down onto the darkspawn's shoulder and neck. Blood that fizzed and burned splayed out onto his skin, and Carver took a few steps back and wiped it away frantically.

"Stay back, Carver," Mariel said, fixing him with her stern, pale gaze before she sent a fireball soaring through the air towards another group of darkspawn. Several villagers cast frightened glances their way, but they were too busy fleeing for their lives to worry overmuch about unleashed mages in their midst.

"Come on!" Bethany exclaimed. She grabbed Mariel by the elbow and pulled her towards one of the pathways leading out of town. "We need to get out of here."

Mariel nodded briefly and turned to lead them away from the darkspawn pouring into Lothering and leaving nothing but ashes and death behind them.

The family raced through the village and up the steep hillside that rose above the village. Mariel was glad she'd never been one to lie around the house; even fit as she was, her muscles screamed with each long stride she took to escape the darkspawn she knew were close behind. The creatures had come further up the hills, and already the small group had met more than their fair share of stragglers whilst trying to avoid the main body of the horde, which no doubt would be flooding into Lothering now.

As the family raced along a narrow passage between high cliff points, Leandra faltered, dropping to her knees in exhaustion. Though Mariel hadn't noticed at first, she swung to a stop when she heard her mother gasping for breath, a faint but perceptible noise beyond the pounding of blood in her ears. Bethany was already helping Leandra onto her feet. Her sister waved a hand and fire erupted in the path behind them, preventing a group of darkspawn from getting any closer. The one hurlock that pressed through the flames met a quick end at the tip of Carver's blade. As the flames receded, more poured through, but between his blade and Mariel's staff, they were finished off quickly.

"That's all of them," Carver said as he wiped his blade off against the leg of his trousers. His strong features, normally so determinedly defiant and haughty, seemed pale and wan after the confrontation. Mariel could not blame him. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it had been like to face these demons at Ostagar—to see an entire army ripped apart before one's very eyes. The thought made her stomach tighten and she bit her lip and worried it to keep from saying anything rash.

"It is," Bethany sighed, the words heavy with relief. Her expression seemed to tighten. "For the moment."

"Maker save us," Leandra panted, her expression even darker than before. Beside her, Quip growled, the hackles along his spine lifted as he sniffed the air. "We've lost it all. Everything your father and I built…" The words were pained, and Mariel could see the grief her mother still felt for their father as clear on her face as if he'd passed away just yesterday. At least before she'd had that life Malcolm had led her to, she'd had a home. Now what did they have? Their lives, maybe, if the horde didn't manage to catch up to them.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Mariel said, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder. "I know what Lothering meant to you. But we can't afford to stay here and wait for the darkspawn to take what little we have left."

"At this rate, they'll catch up to us," Bethany said, her voice weak with fear. She turned accusing eyes on Carver. "We should've left sooner! Why did we wait so long?"

"Why are you looking at me?" Carver demanded hotly, his brows furrowing over his bright blue eyes. "I've been running since Ostagar!"

"Not to _interrupt_ ," Mariel said sharply as she glanced over her shoulders at more hurlocks gathering behind Bethany's flames, "but the Blight's not going to sit back and wait while we stand here pointing fingers. We need to _move_."

"Your sister is right," Leandra said. She looked pleadingly from Bethany to Carver. "We can talk when we're safe."

"Then let's go," Carver said. He nodded slightly at Mariel. "Lead on."

Giving her brother a slight nod, Mariel continued to run up the steep embankment, her arms pumping at her sides, her heart hammering so hard in her chest she thought it would rip its way out from behind her ribcage. More darkspawn appeared on the path ahead. Summoning up her magic, Mariel sent a bolt of ice shooting from the tips of her fingers. It struck one of the hurlocks dead, which only seemed to infuriate the others. Bethany sent a spray of fire from her hand into the faces of the darkspawn, and Carver rushed forward to keep them from getting any closer to his sisters or his mother.

As they crested the next rise of the hill, Bethany slowed to a stop. "Wait," she said, gasping the word between ragged breaths. "Where are we _going_?"

Carver fixed her with a skeptical look. "Away from the darkspawn, of course."

"Well, yes, but _then_ where?" Bethany demanded, her gaze hard. "We can't just wander aimlessly!"

"So long as we wander aimlessly away from the horde, I'm happy." Mariel glanced at the path behind them. So far no more darkspawn had appeared, but there had to be more close behind them.

Leandra looked away, thoughtful, indecisive. Finally she looked Mariel in the eye and said, "We can go to Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall?" Mariel's eyes widened. "That… wouldn't be my first choice."

"There are a lot of templars in Kirkwall, Mother," Bethany reminded Leandra, her expression wary. Of course Mariel shared her misgivings—as a mage, she'd lived her life wary of templars and the imprisonment their attention promised. But if Kirkwall was their best option…

"I know," Leandra said softly. "But we still have family there—an estate."

With a sigh, Mariel rubbed her forehead and shared a look with Bethany. They both knew their mother needed this—needed a place to _belong_. Kirkwall was the only place left for her with Lothering gone. Despite the danger that city posed to Bethany and herself, Mariel knew they couldn't make that decision selfishly. Leandra came first.

"Okay," Mariel said finally. "We'll go to Kirkwall. It's decided. Now let's move!"

"It'll be a miracle if we can even get to Kirkwall," Carver muttered to himself as they began running once more.

Already Mariel's feet ached. She was glad she'd worn her best boots—the decision had been instinctive, really, ever since news of the loss at Ostagar had reached them. They'd waited for Carver, but every day the family had been ready to flee, or as ready as one could be to leave everything they had in the world behind. Well, not everything, it seemed. Kirkwall held some promise for Leandra, and that was enough for Mariel to do what she could to get her mother there.

The family rounded a bend in the steep path. Another group of darkspawn greeted them, this one bigger than the groups they'd bested so far. Bethany kept them from flanking the group as best she could while Carver and Mariel took one the frontal assault. It was difficult to work in such a close space—more than anything, it was hard to avoid hitting Carver with the various bolts of magic that Mariel sent flying at her opponents. As the last darkspawn before them fell to a strike from Mariel's staff-blade, she thought she heard more sounds of fighting from up ahead. Glancing up, Mariel saw a redheaded woman wielding a sword, defending a man who, Mariel saw, had taken a vicious blow to his back. The hurlock that stabbed him soon found itself pounced on by the woman like it was a rabbit in a panther's claws. She punched its skeletal face and then slit its throat, nearly shouting, "You will not have him!"

Turning, she quickly put her arm around the man's shoulders, supporting him as she stood off against the darkspawn pressing closer in on them. Her words were quieter, her look desperate, as she said, "They will _not_ have you. Not while I breathe."

At first, Mariel wasn't sure what to do. The man was a templar—she could see that from the insignia on his shield and from his silver armor. But her hesitation was brief, momentary. Within seconds Mariel was charging forward, her staff held aloft, her siblings running at her heels. Mariel swung her staff around and jabbed the tip of the staff-blade into the earth. The jolting motion sent a rain of bolts from the tip into the horde as Bethany launched a fireball into their midst. The redheaded woman's face whipped around and she and the templar stared with shocked expressions on their faces as the Hawke family pressed forward to fight off the remaining darkspawn.

When the last of the darkspawn fell, the group remained tense and silent, each one splattered in stinging blood, each group wary of the others' intentions. The templar especially seemed uneasy—which did not come as a surprise, of course. Mariel figured the only thing keeping him from clapping them in chains at that very second was his wound, which was clearly quite serious.

"Stop squirming, Wesley," the woman said. "You'll only make the wound worse." She was stiff, controlled, her movements patient and precise. Even with her limited experience, Mariel could tell this woman was a warrior who had seen battle before this.

The templar ignored her and got to his feet. He glared at Mariel and then Bethany. "Apostate," he spat, "keep your distance."

Mariel's expression did not change. It remained neutral, almost disinterested, as the man studied them with suspicious eyes. What were the odds of them running into a templar now, of all times? More than twenty years she'd been hiding from them, right under their noses, and _now_ they decided to take notice? And after she'd saved one of their hides, no less.

As if she could read Mariel's thoughts, Bethany said, "Well, the Maker has a sense of humor, doesn't he? Darkspawn and now a _templar_."

Mariel frowned. "I thought they all abandoned Lothering?"

Ignoring their words, Wesley said, "The 'spawn are clear in their intent, but a mage is _always_ unknown. The Order dictates..." His words faltered and he winced in pain.

"Wesley," the redhead said, her expression hard to read as she shook her head.

The templar took a step in Bethany's direction as he lifted one gauntleted hand to point at her. "The Order dictates…"

Mariel stepped between them, fixing Wesley with a sharp, icy glare. She had no need to lay a hand on her weapon—the look was enough to make the man hesitate, though the look on his face showed he meant business all the same.

"Dear, they _saved_ us," the woman said quietly, convincingly, her gaze serene and patient. "The Maker understands."

For a moment the templar's expression remained unchanged. Then the hard lines of his frowns softened into a look that was harder to decipher. "Of course," he said softly, taking a step back so that he stood at the woman's side.

"I am Aveline Vallen," the redhead said, still as calm as she'd been before. "This is my husband Ser Wesley. We can hate each other when we're safe from the horde."

"I am Mariel Hawke," Mariel replied evenly. She gestured to her family members one by one as she said their names. "This is my mother, Leandra, and my siblings, Carver and Bethany." She wanted to ask why they were here—the other templars had left Lothering days ago, why had Wesley lingered? Perhaps he'd come in search of Aveline? It didn't seem as if he were intent on hunting apostates at the moment, so she figured that wasn't his motivation for being here.

"Why are you here, and not with the other templars?" Bethany asked Wesley, her expression one of intense suspicion.

"I was on my way to Denerim with business for the Order, but I turned back when I heard what happened at Ostagar," Wesley replied.

"Bad luck—and judgment," Aveline added with a pointed look at Wesley—"brought us together here before the attack."

"I'm glad you made it out," Mariel said with a slight nod. "For a moment it seemed like we were the only ones who escaped the darkspawn."

Carver shook his head. "We aren't free of them yet. You weren't at Ostagar—I saw the horde. _This_ is just the start."

His words were true, Mariel knew. She felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. How could she protect her family and get them to safety? Even with all the power in the world, she couldn't fight off the horde singlehanded. Doubt and fear plagued at the back of her mind, in the darkest reaches where demons whispered their empty promises of power and wishes granted. Mariel did not listen to them, however. Their very presence had the opposite effect on her than they may have intended; it steeled her and made her more determined than ever to save her family with her own two hands. She could do it. She had to.

" _You_ were there?" Aveline looked at Carver, her expression surprised and then calculating. "Yes, I see it now. Third company, under Captain Varrell."

"Then you saw how we were defeated," Carver said in a low voice, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The look on his face was miserable—Mariel wondered if he blamed himself for coming home at all. What would have happened if he hadn't returned from the battle? Would they have left without him? Mariel doubted it. They'd barely managed to escape in time, and even in those last moments they wouldn't have left with such urgency if Carver hadn't been with them.

"We fell to _betrayal_ ," Aveline said darkly, her expression cold, "not the darkspawn. I doubt the horde will have the same advantage."

"No, but I doubt Loghain has the same numbers Cailan had," Mariel said. She glanced over her shoulder, her heartbeat stuttering in her chest. How long were they going to stand here and chat? They needed to get moving if they were going to have a prayer of escaping the horde.

Bethany shared a look with her sister. "We should move on," she said in a soft voice.

"For now we will move with you," Aveline said. Her husband did not seem to wish to argue, so Mariel assumed he accepted her wish to join their company, despite the fact they were apostates. It seemed templars were not quite as fearsome as their wives when it came down to it.

"North is cut off," Aveline added. "We barely escaped the main body of the horde."

All at once Mariel's family began to lose hope—she could see in the way Bethany's head dropped, the way her mother buried her face in her hands, and Carver spoke up almost at once: "Then we're trapped! The Wilds are to the south and that's no way out!"

"If the options are south or die, I'm going to take my chances with south," Mariel said, fixing him with a cold look before she nodded to Aveline and took the lead again.

The two newcomers to the group seemed content to follow her lead, as well. Malcolm had once told his eldest that she possessed a rare quality—that of a natural born leader, someone that others flocked to in times of need. At one point in time she'd almost resented the idea—she'd never wanted to lead anyone, had never insisted her way was better than anyone else's, but Mariel had resigned herself to her role, at least within her family. Bethany needed her help, her protection, and Carver did, too, even if he refused to admit it. And more than both of them, Mariel knew her mother needed her to be strong, to be the governing influence for the family in place of her father. Still, for all the _inevitability_ of her taking on the role of leader, Mariel felt distinctly ill at ease guiding Wesley and Aveline along with her family down the steep embankment towards the hills that led back south towards the Wilds. This was not a question of investment or household maintenance; at this moment, Mariel held the lives of every person around her in her hands, and not for the first time she felt unworthy of the trust they placed in her.

As Mariel crested another hill onto its flat top, surrounded by higher crags, she felt the ground beneath her feet begin to quake noticeably. A terrible feeling wormed its way into her gut, and she looked up just as humongous ogre charged towards them, its beady eyes blazing with malignance as it roared throatily.

Mariel and Carver dived out of the way of the rampaging beast. It stopped only feet away from Bethany and their mother, its huge head swiveling around as it fixed its gaze on the two women.

Her hand shaking as she lifted it, Bethany said, "Maker give me strength."

The ogre's massive hand swung down, and Mariel's mouth opened in shock and horror as it reached for Bethany's waist.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter of On a Cold Night!

I've wanted to write a Dragon Age story for a long time because I love the world, the characters—pretty much everything about it! Certainly I had ideas for original stories (too many!), but what I really wanted to do was write about Hawke. I love her as a character—her struggles, her faith, her strength, her friendships. I guess I got to know my Hawke really well over the course of the game, and she has a special place in my heart. I've read some great fanfictions featuring Hawke and her group of misfits, but naturally none of the stories quite felt like they were about _my_ Hawke, so I wanted to write her story for myself. I hope that you will find her as loveable and interesting as I do and enjoy my take on the story.

That being said, this fanfiction is largely a reflection of my interpretation and stylistic conceptions about the story of Dragon Age II. Though I wish to keep some of the key dialogue, plot points, and important scenes from the game, I don't want to just write the story scene for scene and dialogue by dialogue. There are also some "what if" questions and other factors that I would like to explore, so as I said I'm not interested in sticking word for word to the responses and situations in the game. All the same, I do want to try my best to keep the integrity of Bioware's characters. It's not always easy to do so when one branches out on one's own and develops characters in a different way than the game does, but I will do my best to keep the characters recognizable and consistent to their video game models, as much as is possible. If you have a specific concern about this as the story progresses, please feel free to mention it. I'm always grateful for constructive criticism that helps me to create a better, more compelling story, and I've learned a lot from the feedback that I receive, so I appreciate the time and thought that you put into every review.

Thank you for reading! I hope you continue to watch for updates in the future.

– Lion


	2. Chapter Two: Get Out Alive

Author's Preface: This chapter is inspired by the song "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace. Standard disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, its plot, or its characters. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 **On a Cold Night**

 **Chapter Two**

 _No time for goodbye she said_

 _As she faded away_

 _If you want to_ _ **get out alive**_

 _Run for your life_

Bones cracked audibly as the ogre's huge fist crushed flesh between its fingers. Mariel rushed forward, her scream caught in her throat. Blood splattered across the ground, dark against the pale stones. Her heart thundering in her chest, Mariel ran, horror and grief a heavy weight in her chest, the ogre's back a wall that protected her from the sight she feared most.

The ogre turned and threw the body in its hands off to the side, where it hit a rock with audible force. Armor clanked as the lifeless body of Ser Wesley crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap of broken bones, his skin pale and laced with dark veins that showed the beginnings of the darkspawn infection.

"Wesley!" Aveline cried, her voice catching as she lifted her sword and screamed, "No!" She ran forward, swinging wildly and striking the ogre in the knee. It roared and staggered back, revealing a shocked looking Bethany standing in front of her mother.

Mariel ran to her mother's side and pushed her off to the side, wanting her out of the way so that she wouldn't be harmed by the oncoming horde. Already darkspawn were swarming up both sides of the hill, swords, maces, and crossbows held in twisted hands as they sought to eradicate all human life.

Magic sparked in the air around her as Mariel held up a hand and released a powerful fireball into the oncoming group of darkspawn. It exploded, ripping flesh and armor into pieces that scattered onto the ground. Charging forward, Mariel swung her staff and sent a bolt of light towards the ogre. Aveline continued to hack away at its legs, and while she distracted it Mariel launched herself into the air and caught onto the rough leather straps slung across the ogre's back. Pulling herself up, Mariel slipped a dagger out of the red sash at her waist and plunged it into the ogre's neck at an angle. The blade dug into thick flesh and the ogre screamed as it fell backwards. Mariel jumped away, but one of the large arms hit her shoulders and sent her face-first onto the ground.

The ground punched the air right out of Mariel's chest. She coughed weakly and pushed herself up, feeling the weight of the ogre's hand across her back. Leandra ran up to her and pushed the arm off. "Mariel!" she yelled, her expression terrified. "Mariel, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mother," Mariel coughed weakly. "I'm fine. Get to cover. Bethany…"

"She's fine," Leandra said as she helped Mariel stand up. "Ser Wesley jumped in between her and the ogre. He saved her."

Nodding, Mariel gently pushed her mother towards Bethany, who stood over Ser Wesley's body as she sent bolts of fire from her staff. Mariel picked her staff up from the ground and turned back to the remaining darkspawn.

There didn't seem to be an end to the foul creatures. Mariel desperately swung her staff, sending out bolts of light that seared and tore, but for each darkspawn she felled another came to take its place. Carver was covered in streaks of blood, and beside him Aveline also fought, keeping Wesley's shield between her and her opponents, and her blade between the darkspawn and the supporting mage fighters. However, Mariel was not content to leave all the danger to the warriors.

Rushing closer to the cluster of darkspawn around Aveline and Carver, the mage punched one of the hurlocks in the throat with the tip of her staff-blade, driving it in deep before she yanked it out and then swung her staff around, bashing the hurlock on the skull. As it crumpled forward, Mariel sent another surge of magic from her staff towards a genlock poised to strike Carver with its twisted sickle. Carver didn't look in her direction, but she saw him nod his head in acknowledgement before he plunged back into the midst of the darkspawn pressing in around them.

Increasing numbers drove the fighters back towards the rock where Bethany stood before Leandra and Ser Wesley. Mariel's mother crouched beside the dead man and watched the fight helplessly, her skin pale and her face stained with tears. Standing over her was her younger daughter, whose hands shook even as she unleashed torrents of fire and ice from her fingertips.

A bolt whizzed by Mariel's ear, and she felt the sting of a cut across her cheek. Flourishing her staff, the mage erected a weak barrier with whatever mana she had left. Her strength was quickly waning, however, and she wouldn't be able to protect their small group from the darkspawn's arrows for long.

Just when Mariel thought they were all done for, an ear-splitting screech broke through the air as the top of the mountain behind them began to move. All eyes, human and darkspawn alike, turned to see two enormous wings open, revealing a purple dragon with stately horns and glaring white fangs. Its golden eyes flashed as it roared again, drawing looks of terror from the darkspawn below. In one fell swoop, the dragon sent a burst of white fire onto the field of battle, effectively roasting the darkspawn surrounding the small group of survivors. As it passed it scooped up one hurlock in its jaws and carried it up into the sky before the dragon dropped it back down into the pool of flames left below. Mariel watched in awe as the beast swung around for another dive, alighted onto the ground, and swung its tail back and forth, battering several darkspawn as its claws sought those who strayed too close. The beast stood on its hind legs and turned its massive head in the direction of the humans as a low growl hummed in its throat.

A blinding light engulfed the dragon's impressive form, shifting and morphing into a more mundane shape; a woman emerged from the bright light, tall and stately with white hair bound in horn-like shapes except where it was allowed to hang loose in the wind. The woman's eyes were a brilliant gold color that stood out against the dark maroon bodice she wore laced with dark feathers around the shoulders and neckline. The woman kept one hand on the hurlock her dragon claws had tore into, and as she approached she dragged the corpse along with her for several paces before she released it into the flames behind her.

"Well, well," she said in a reedy, dry voice. "What have we here?" One of the woman's hands rested on her hip as she regarded them coldly. "It used to be we never got visitors in the Wilds. Now they arrive in _hordes_."

Glancing at her shell-shocked family, and Aveline, who had slumped down beside Wesley and now held his head in her hands, Mariel decided she must be the one to converse with the powerful witch who had, it seemed, designed to save them from the darkspawn. With a deep sigh, Mariel stepped forward.

"Impressive," she said, trying to keep her tone light and unafraid. Laughing in the face of danger. A false kind of bravado, sure, but it was all Mariel had to cling onto. Her hands shook a little, and she tried to keep them still and inconspicuous at her sides as she faced down the witch. "Where did you learn to turn into a dragon?"

The woman regarded her with amused eyes. "Perhaps I _am_ a dragon."

Well, that would be an… interesting situation. Mariel wasn't sure what to make of that statement, so for the moment she decided to let it go.

"If so," the woman added with a smirk, "count yourself lucky. The smell of burning darkspawn does nothing for the appetite."

"I… would imagine not," Mariel replied evenly as she glanced at Bethany. Her sister was bent over Wesley, trying to see if there was anything she could do to help. But magic could only heal so much. It was clear to Mariel that the templar was gone.

"If you're trying to flee the horde, be aware you are heading in the _wrong_ direction." The witch turned away from them as she spoke and began to stroll off, not once looking back at them.

"So you're just going to leave us here?" Carver demanded, stepping forward until he stood at Mariel's side.

The witch's steps slowed to a stop. For a moment she remained completely still, and then her head turned as she looked over her shoulder. "And why not?"

"If you're just going to leave us to die, why save us at all?" Bethany demanded. She straightened up, leaving Wesley to Aveline and Leandra, and came to stand beside her brother and sister.

With a slight, easy smile, the witch said, "I spotted a most _curious_ sight. A mighty ogre—vanquished! Who could have performed such a feat?" She regarded Mariel with interested, almost ravenous eyes. Resisting the urge to back away, Mariel met her gaze squarely. There was something about this woman, something about the way she held herself, that told Mariel she was not one to mess with. All the same, without her, they would've died in that last darkspawn attack. What hope did they have of getting past the horde without help?

The witch's voice deepened as she frowned slightly. "But now my curiosity is sated, and you are safe, for the moment. Is that not enough?"

Before she really thought through her response, Mariel said, "You could show me that trick of yours. Looks useful."

Laughing deeply, the witch said, "I daresay it is. Such a clever tongue for a mage."

Mariel shrugged. "It's a gift."

The deep laughter softened into more of a chuckle. "I'm sure it is." Seeming to relax some, the witch said, "Tell me, clever child. How do you intend to outrun the Blight?"

"We're going to Kirkwall, in the Free Marches," Carver said immediately.

"Oh?" The witch's eyes sparked with interest. "My, my, that is quite the voyage you plan. So far, simply to flee the darkspawn."

With a soft snort of amusement, Mariel said, "Any better suggestions? I hear the Deep Roads are vacant now."

Laughter burst out of the witch once more. "Oh, _you_ I like!" she exclaimed. Her expression became more thoughtful, her gaze piercing. "Hurtled into the chaos you fight… and the world will shake before you."

Mariel frowned. That was an oddly cryptic remark. What did the witch mean? Certainly they'd been hurled into enough chaos for one day, but the only shaking so far had been the ground beneath the ogre's feet, as far as Mariel could tell.

The witch turned her back on the group once more as she held one elbow cupped in her hand, her posture telling Mariel she was thinking more deeply even than before. "Is it fate or chance? I can never decide," the witch said softly, almost to herself. Finally she lowered her hands to her side, bowed her head, and then turned to face them again.

"It appears fortune smiles on us both today. I may be able to help you yet."

Eyes narrowing, Mariel said, "Just like that? There must be a catch."

Laughing, the witch said, "There is always a catch. _Life_ is a catch. I suggest you _catch_ it while you can."

Mariel couldn't help but smile a bit. The witch was sharp, that was certain. "True enough," Mariel said finally.

"Do you think we should trust her?" Carver asked in a low voice. "We don't even know who she is."

" _I_ know what she is," Aveline said from where she knelt beside Wesley. Her eyes flashed accusingly. "She is the Witch of the Wilds."

"Some call me that," the witch said. "Also Flemeth. Ashabellanar. An old hag who talks too much." Flemeth chuckled at her own joke. Then her expression became less amused. "Does it matter? I offer you this: I will get you past the horde in exchange for a delivery to a place not far out of your way. Would you do this for a _Witch of the Wilds_?"

Mariel frowned slightly. "What _is_ a Witch of the Wilds exactly?"

"A Chasind legend. Witches that steal children," Aveline explained in a low voice, not looking in Flemeth's direction.

Flemeth scoffed. "Bah! As if I had nothing better to do."

"Then… you're an apostate?" Mariel guessed. That much she supposed was obvious, but she wanted to gather as much information as she could. Blindly following a self-professed witch did not seem like a good idea.

"Yes!" Flemeth said, her voice light and almost childishly joyful. "We have that much in common," the witch added, her gaze piercing as she looked at Mariel.

Glancing sideways at her sister, Mariel asked, "You would go through the trouble of saving us just to have something delivered? Why not take it yourself?" She wasn't certain it was wise to point out the oddity of the witch's proposal, but what else could she do? Her family was depending on her, and possibly this witch, to get them away from the darkspawn horde safely.

The witch smiled thinly. "I have… an _appointment_ to keep. It is far more convenient this way. Happily, you are not without your own needs."

"True," Mariel said darkly. After a brief pause she added, "What will this delivery entail, exactly?"

With a slight nod, the witch said, "There is a clan of Dalish elves near the city of Kirkwall." Flemeth stepped forward and held out a small amulet, which Mariel accepted hesitantly. "Deliver this amulet to their keeper, Marethari. Do what she asks with it, and any debt between us is paid in full."

Mariel nodded and slipped the amulet into her satchel with their potions and supplies. "I understand," she said, though in reality she probably understood very little of the service the witch asked of her. That being said, she was not in a position to bargain.

Looking back over her shoulder, Mariel frowned when she saw Aveline beside her dead husband. The look of grief on her face was one Mariel knew well. Her mother had looked that way every minute of every day for weeks after their father had died.

"Aveline," Mariel said softly. She walked over to the woman's side, stooped, and placed a hand on the warrior's shoulder. "I know he is your husband, but… we can't afford to linger here."

Aveline bowed her head. "I know," she said thickly.

Keeping her voice low, Mariel asked, "Will it help if I said a prayer for him?"

The warrior's head jerked up and she fixed Mariel with a surprised look. "You… you are Andrastian?"

"I am," Mariel said softly. No doubt this revelation was a surprise to the wife of a templar. Apostates were living in direct defiance of the Chantry's laws, but what Andraste believed and what the Chantry did when it came to magic were not one and the same. Mariel knew she did not have to live her life in a prison to use her gift for the Maker's children, to protect and heal them, to nurture and never to outright destroy.

"Then I… would appreciate your prayers," Aveline said.

Mariel nodded and then bowed her head. Closing her eyes, she murmured, "Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, give this brave man, one of your faithful, a place at your side. And Father, if you see him there, please take good care of him, for Bethany and Mother's sake."

Meeting Aveline's gaze steadily, Mariel held out a hand. Aveline accepted it, and Mariel helped the warrior onto her feet.

With a look of compassion, Flemeth said, "Without an end, there can be no peace."

"Let's go," Mariel said softly. Her mother took Bethany's hand, and Bethany took Aveline's. Carver hung back and kept one hand on Quip's head as the mabari whimpered softly. Mariel looked at their faces, no longer filled with despair, now hoping that somehow they would manage to escape this place.

"Yes," Mariel said finally, turning to fix her cool gaze on Flemeth. "We're ready."

The journey through the Wilds was long and difficult, but Flemeth knew her way through the marshes, and she helped the group to avoid most of the darkspawn horde. Eventually Flemeth managed to get them to Gwaren, where they were able to hire a ship with what little money they had. As the small family shuffled into the ship's hold with other refugees, Mariel looked over her shoulder at the line of trees where they'd left the witch. She thought she could see her standing among the shadows, watching. Despite what she was, Flemeth had helped Mariel and her family, and for that the mage would always be grateful. She gave a slight nod of thanks before turning to join her family onboard the ship.

Bodies pressed in among boxes and crates, human cargo the main staple of this voyage, it seemed. Mariel sat with her back against the lower portion of the main mast, Mother and Bethany on either side. Carver sat on one of the large crates, and underneath it Aveline lay on the wooden floor, her face pale as she fought seasickness with each rolling wave and lurch of the ship. The Waking Sea was definitely awake—storms had lashed the ship's sides for days on end from the minute they set out from Gwaren. The minutes passed into hours, and hours into days. It was hard to tell time in the dark hold, and the refugees were not permitted on deck for any reason. The stench in the hold grew unbearable after only a few days, and Mariel tried desperately to spend her time sleeping in an effort to avoid the unpleasantness of the voyage. Sleep was not forthcoming, however—she'd barely had a full night since hearing the news about Ostagar. Worry had plagued her mind, and it refused to pass simply because they were safe from the Blight. There were so many other concerns that kept her wakeful, watchful, and Mariel could not quiet them long enough to give her mind some peace.

It seemed Aveline had trouble sleeping, as well. With her family gathered around her, each quiet as they rested, Mariel noticed the warrior staring hard into the faces of the refugees around her, fingers curled into fists, which she rested on her knees.

"Are you all right, Aveline?" Mariel asked in a low voice. She knew that the woman wasn't—but Mariel also knew that it was a question that needed to be asked.

Aveline smoothed one of her hands over Wesley's shield, which rested at her side with the templar insignia facing up. "I never imagined what it would be like to live in a world where Wesley didn't exist," Aveline said in a low voice. "I didn't want to imagine it."

Creeping forward between the bodies pressed around them, Mariel sat beside Aveline. At first she said nothing, only sat and watched the peaceful faces of her family as they slept.

"Wesley saved my sister," Mariel said. "If he hadn't stepped between her and that ogre, it would have killed Bethany."

"I know," Aveline murmured.

"He gave his life for an apostate." Glancing at Aveline, Mariel wished fervently that her emotions would read through her pale eyes. A desperate need to communicate her thanks, her sadness for Aveline's loss, dug deep inside her heart. Mariel knew what it was like to lose someone. She would not wish that grief and misery onto anyone. "Wesley must have been an amazing person to be so brave, so selfless, for someone who opposed everything he stood for."

Aveline bowed her head. "He always did the right thing, always protected those who needed his protection."

"I'm glad he had you by his side, in the end," Mariel said softly. "At least this way I can thank him through you."

The warrior glanced at Mariel from the corner of her eye. "You don't hold the fact that he was a templar against him?"

Mariel shrugged. "He believed he was doing the right thing. Certainly there are many mages who would hurt innocents if they were allowed to roam free. I understand why he made the decisions he made. But in the end he showed qualities that not all templars can boast—compassion and mercy."

"True enough," Aveline murmured.

"If you ever need anything, Aveline, you can ask us," Mariel said. "You can ask _me_. If it is within my power, I will help you."

Looking at her evenly, Aveline nodded her head slightly. "Thank you, Hawke."

Mariel smiled slightly, the expression sad but earnest. A comfortable silence settled over them as the ship swayed. With no end to the roiling motions in sight, all Mariel could do was close her eyes and pray that they would arrive in Kirkwall soon.

* * *

Author's Note:

So, surprise! Neither of Hawke's siblings died. As I said before, there are a few "what if" scenarios I'd like to play out during the course of this story, and one of the biggest questions I had started out was what would have happened if both of Hawke's siblings had survived? Would she have dealt with things differently? Would she have fewer or more problems to deal with later on? Those are some things I'd like to explore, so Bethany and Carver are both coming to the Free Marches. I also thought removing the whole "let's kill Wesley" part of the intro would be for the best. Not my favorite scene.

This chapter was definitely a bit more on point with most of its dialogue and events, which I suppose is necessary, since we're just starting out. Once we get into the swing of things, hopefully I'll be able to steer a bit away from the beaten path. All the same, I hope you've enjoyed my take on the events so far.

Thank you for reading, and please do leave feedback, if you can. I am always eager to learn and grow, and your reviews are much needed advice and encouragement for me.

– Lion


	3. Chapter Three: Deal with the Devil

Author's Preface: This chapter is inspired by the song "Deal with the Devil" by Backtrack. For your standard disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, its plot, characters, dialogues, and all manner of fun things related to the game. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 **On a Cold Night**

 **Chapter Three**

 _I think of what I had and where it all went_

 _ **Deal with the devil**_ _that I try to escape_

 _No sense in running when he's holding my fate_

The Gallows were an imposing structure, solid stone that rose up high overhead, bronze statues of slaves with their faces buried in their hands lining the corridor through which the ship had traveled, chains hanging from one sharply hewn ledge to another. All around them, refugees poured from the various seafaring vessels into the dock at the base of the Gallows. As Mariel watched them gather into a sizeable crowd, a suspicion began to take root in her brain. Were they not permitting the refugees into the city? The large crowd did not thin out at all, which meant that the people in the crowd weren't moving. Voices rose through the stale tasting air, desperate wails paired with angry shouts.

Aveline reinforced Mariel's suspicions. "They're not letting anyone into the city."

"What?" Leandra's face fell. "That can't be!"

"It's true," Mariel said as she watched the refugees clustered about the entrance to the Gallows. "Look at them all."

A line of guardsmen stood, arms crossed, before the crowd, a seemingly impenetrable barrier between them and the interior of the city. Whenever the refugees got too close, a quick shove with gauntleted hands was enough to drive them back.

"Are we really surprised?" Carver asked in an accusatory tone, the look on his face one of pure disgust. "Everyone's fleeing the Blight, same as us."

"And they would throw us back to the wolves? Unbelievable," Aveline growled.

"It's totally believable," Mariel responded, though her words were laced with sarcasm. She glanced at her mother, worried by the lock of desperation on her face. A part of Mariel wanted to turn around and board the ship again, to continue on to some other place with more room, with fewer templars maybe, anywhere they could be safe. But she knew what Kirkwall meant to Leandra, and Mariel had to do whatever she could to get them into the city. For her mother, there was no other option.

"We need to find Gamlen," Leandra said urgently. "Our family has always been highly regarded in Kirkwall. I'm sure he can do something about this."

"Let's hope he received your letter, then," Carver said with a sigh.

Aveline took a few steps forward. "The guards are reporting to that captain there. Perhaps he's the one we should speak to."

With a nod, Mariel pressed forward into the crowd. It was not difficult for her to squeeze her way in between flailing arms and haphazard punches from the refugees around her—she was agile enough to avoid trouble. When she stopped in front of the guard captain, he fixed her with a cold, almost disgusted look.

"Get back into the crowd with the rest of them, you rabble," he said. "You won't get into Kirkwall by bullying your way to the front."

"But you _do_ intend to let us in?" Aveline pressed, her brows knitting over her bright eyes as she fixed him with a stern look. Glancing at her, Mariel sighed. She could sense the way the wind was blowing here, and it wasn't a favorable direction.

"Ha!" the man laughed pitilessly. "We have enough poor of our own in the Free Marches. We don't need you refugees piling up here like a middens heap."

"So why let anyone into the city? Why not just send everyone away?" Mariel asked, not a little bitterly.

"If it were up to me, I would," the captain replied, his gaze steely. "But it's not up to me. Some of you lot might have legitimate business in the city, so Knight-Commander Meredith wants us to sort you all out. Most of you will get right back on your ships."

"Knight-Commander? That's a templar title," Mariel pointed out, frowning. "Why would city guardsmen answer to the templars?"

"We don't _answer_ to her, but she's the hand of power in Kirkwall," the guardsman said. "The viscount has never gone against her wishes before, but I imagine he's not eager to, either."

"I see," Mariel murmured. Somehow the fact that the templars had a lot of power in the city did not rest well with her—not that it should. It was hard enough to avoid the templars in a small village like Lothering, and there they had very little power, so they tended not to step outside the bounds of the Chantry. In Kirkwall, it seemed this was not so much the case. Mariel glanced at her mother and then added, "We do have business in the city—family who lives here. Is there someone I can speak with about that?"

The captain sighed and rolled his eyes. "If you want in, talk to Captain Ewald. He's the one making the decisions. I'm just here to keep refugees from climbing the walls."

"Right," Mariel said dryly. She gestured for her family to follow her up the steps. The refugees they left behind them seemed agitated that they were being let through, but Mariel put that out of her mind. She couldn't afford to _not_ be selfish, for her mother's sake, at least. With everything that had happened, Leandra needed this, needed a home to return to after losing everything she'd shared with Malcolm and their children these twenty odd years. Mariel would do what she could for the other refugees later—for now, her family had to be her priority.

The Gallows courtyard was a large, open space of sharp, geometric structures, tall, stout pillars, and bronze statues that resembled those lining the cliffs on the port side of the city. Red banners cut into a fourth of a circle lined the high buttresses along the main structure of the gallows. A series of wide steps led up to that structure, and in front of the steps stood a guard dressed in the dragon-motif armor worn by the Kirkwall guard. Clustered around the captain were some rough-and-tumble men dressed in worn leathers and armed to the teeth. From their general appearance to their stances and expressions, Mariel could tell they were not happy with the situation, and she subtly put a hand on the knife tucked into the back of her belt as she approached with a forced smile on her face.

"Where are we supposed to go?" one of the leather clad men demanded, his face red and splotchy with frustration.

"I don't know, serah," Captain Ewald sighed. "But there's nothing for you here."

"Let us _in_ you flaming blighter!" the leader of the ragtag group of fighters demanded. "We're not staying in this _pit_!"

"Then I suggest you get back on your ship and leave," Ewald replied, his voice and expression oddly calm against the obvious aggression of the men before him. "Kirkwall has no more room for refugees," he added.

One of the other fighters piped up. "The ship's already gone! We've paid good coin to get here."

The captain sighed. "You and half of Ferelden. The city is _full_. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Captain Ewald, I presume," Mariel said as she stepped in front of him. The mage gave the guard a polite nod of her head, then she glanced sideways at the upstarts to her left before she added, "One of the guards said you were letting in people who have business in the city."

"That's right!" the leader said sharply. "We've seen you let lots of people through!"

" _Citizens_ and _merchants_ that make it worth our while, yes," Ewald replied icily. He glanced at Mariel with a depreciative look on his face. "I'll assume you have no more coin than these _gentlemen_?"

"Well," was all Mariel said to the accusation. It was true they didn't have much coin on them. Most of what they'd brought in their emergency supplies had been spent on the voyage from Gwaren.

Throwing up his hands, Ewald let out a harsh breath. "You're too late! We've been letting you Fereldans in for months, and there's simply no more room!"

"But we've got family here," Bethany protested.

Ewald shook his head. "I've heard claims like that before, trust me. We'll find ships to take you all back to Fereldan, but for now you must stay here."

Mariel glanced at her family. Her mother's shoulders slumped and her siblings shared uneasy looks. Only Aveline seem unsurprised and unaffected by the news. With a sigh, Mariel turned back to Ewald. "Is there no one else I can talk to about this?" she asked.

"The city was sealed off by the order of Viscount Dumar and Knight-Commander Meredith," Ewald replied evenly. "But they entrusted _me_ to deal with the refugees."

"Our uncle is Gamlen Amell," Mariel said. "He knows we're coming. Couldn't someone be sent to find him?"

"Gamlen?" Ewald's brows rose high. "I know that name."

His response encouraged Mariel. At the very least he wouldn't ignore their claims to connections within the city, coin or no.

"He's a nobleman in the city," Carver added. "Our family has an estate."

"A nobleman?" Ewald frowned. "The only Gamlen I know is a _weasel_ who barely has two coppers to rub together."

Mariel shared a startled look with her mother. This did not sound promising, but she supposed they needed to start by finding Gamlen. The rest would sort itself out later.

With a sigh, Ewald said, "If we can find him, I'll bring you to him, but in the meantime—"

"What?" This exclamation came from the leader of the unruly group of men Mariel had almost forgotten. They'd been quiet enough while she'd conversed with Ewald, probably waiting for him to refuse her as he had them, but now the tides were turned and they seemed none too happy.

"You're letting _them_ through?" the man nearly yelled, his face twisted with anger. "We've been here for _four days_! They just got here!"

"I didn't say anything about—" Ewald began, but he was cut off again.

"That's it!" the leader of the group of refugee fighters shouted. "We've carving our way out of here! Come on, men!"

Immediately weapons were drawn, swords and shields and bows were lifted and readied, and Mariel could see at once that there were not enough guards to deal with the large number of thugs. With a sharp look at her siblings and Aveline, Mariel drew her knife and immediately threw it with precision at the nearest archer. It stuck in his shoulder and he let out a pained grunt.

Almost as soon as she slipped her staff from its sling across her back, one of the shield-bearing men was upon her. His sword came down on her staff as she held it up to block. Lashing out with a boot, she caught the man in the stomach, which only served to force him back a few paces. His leather armor kept the impact from doing much damage, and he was immediately ready to attack her again, but this time she was ready for him.

Mariel parried his blade off to the side and swung her staff around so that the blade at its end slashed across the man's throat. As soon as he crumpled to the ground another warrior took his place, this one holding twin daggers that she knew would be harder to parry than the sword had been. Normally she would consider throwing a fireball in the man's smug face, but with the city guards fighting only steps away in the middle of the _Gallows_ , magic was not an option.

Before she could be much troubled by the duelist, however, Carver stepped between them and hit the man with a punch to the jaw that nearly toppled him. Her brother followed his blow up with a mighty slash of his sword, which nearly eviscerated the man. Mariel stepped to the side and launched herself at one of the archers. He couldn't block her staff's blows effectively with his bow, so she made quick work of him before she followed up with a stab of her staff-blade into the side of another of the long-range fighters.

Behind Mariel, Bethany stood at her mother's side protectively, her staff held loosely in her hand, her magic smothered but still prickling in the air palatably as her gaze flickered from one face to another.

Glancing to her right, Mariel saw Aveline and Carver fighting with the leader of the small band of men. There were three other archers left for her to deal with. The guardsmen, led by Captain Ewald, were facing off with the rest of the men. Charging across the space that separated her from the archers, Mariel dodged one bolt before she spun her staff around and smacked its blunt end against the skull of a slender fighter with blond hair and dark skin. The sound of the impact was loud and forceful in her ear, but she didn't have time to be squeamish about anything. As the archer crumpled, she sent her staff-blade forcefully through his gut and then ripped it out, using that momentum to swing the staff around and slash the collarbone of the archer standing only a few feet away from her. He had been drawing a dagger from his belt, but as her blade tore across his skin he let out a yelp and dropped the weapon. In a second Mariel finished him off with another swipe of her staff-blade, this time drawing it skillfully across his throat. Before she could turn her attention on the last archer, Aveline blocked off one of his arrows with her shield and then thrust her sword through his chest.

Captain Ewald rubbed his sword clean on the jerkin of one of the dead interlopers and shook his head. "Unbelievable."

The blond guard from the docks below ran up to them then, his expression panicked. "Captain! Are you all right?" he demanded.

"I am, no thanks to you," Captain Ewald said thinly. "Where is everyone? Go find them. We need to keep the situation under control."

"Yes, Captain!" the guard exclaimed before running off to fetch the other guardsmen.

The captain turned his attention back to Mariel, his expression more relaxed now. "Thank you for your assistance." After a brief moment of hesitation, he added, "Look. I can't get you into the city—that's not my decision. But I will find your uncle and bring him here."

"Thank you," Mariel said with a smile.

The captain nodded and turned away from them, leaving them to their own devices until Gamlen could come along and work things out for them. With a sigh, Mariel turned to her mother and checked her over. Despite the arrows flying all over the place, Leandra was unscathed, which relieved Mariel greatly. She found a semi-comfortable place for her mother to sit and then went to arrange food for the small group of people in her charge.

Aveline came with her, the redheaded warrior looking none the worse for wear from their scuffle. It seemed that those rogue fighters hadn't been up to par with the skill set that Mariel's warriors possessed. For her own part, she'd felt relatively restricted by the fight. Without her magic, she could fend off a fair number of people, but she wasn't anywhere near the skill level of her brother or Aveline when it came to the utilization of martial weapons. All the same, Mariel wasn't overly bothered by this fact. It was better to come off as a subpar warrior rather than a competent apostate in situations such as these.

Examining the bits of food merchants had for sale, Mariel felt an overwhelming sense of loss, powerful and sudden, and she set down one of the apples she'd begun examining and took a step closer to the turbulent, dark waters crashing between the cliffs that spread out in front of the Gallows.

"Hawke?" Aveline stepped forward and placed a hand on Mariel's shoulder.

Rubbing the moisture from her eyes, Mariel turned and smiled slightly. "Sorry. I got a bit lost in thought for a moment."

With a sympathetic nod, Aveline said, "We've all been through a lot."

Mariel rubbed the back of her neck. "You're telling me."

Aveline's expression was hard to read, but there was something sad about the look in her eyes. "At least you're all together," she said softly. "You have each other."

Mariel wasn't sure how to respond to that, but she knew that behind the hard mask of a warrior, Aveline was as much a woman as she was. They both had to be strong to get through this ordeal, but they both felt much more than they showed.

"That's true," she said. "And you have us, too, Aveline. If you want."

With a brief nod, Aveline said, "Thank you, Hawke."

Once they'd gathered a bit of the cheapest food they could find that still seemed edible, Mariel and Aveline returned to the others and they all sat down to eat together. Mariel was struck with the truth of Aveline's words as she listened to her siblings discuss the Gallows and how it fared against their expectations. Growing up, all the Hawke siblings had heard stories about the Circle in Kirkwall where their father had lived and studied before he had left it behind to be with Leandra. None of them had ever been particularly fond of the topic, though, and Mariel was eager to find some other point of discussion to harp on for a time.

"So, Aveline," Mariel said as she took a sip of the awful stew they'd managed to scrounge up with what coin they had left. "You fight very well. Did you say before that you served King Cailan? I'm not surprised."

"I did," Aveline responded calmly, as if she were speaking of something mundane, like the weather. "I've always been fonder of swords and shields than dresses and soirees."

"I'm not sure I've ever been invited to a soiree, but I agree," Mariel said with a soft chuckle.

Aveline regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "Did you ever leave Lothering?" she asked. "Life there must have been rather slow at times."

Taking a sip of her stew, Mariel considered the idea. "I guess it was," she said. "Life went on as I expected it to, but I guess that's what I liked about Lothering. It was simple. Maybe I dreamed about traveling when I was younger, but after my magic manifested, it just didn't seem realistic."

"I see." Aveline stared down into her small earthenware bowl. Mariel thought she looked like she wanted to ask a question but wasn't sure whether or not it would be well received. Following that line of thought, it was most likely about her life as an apostate. The few people who knew the Hawke family's secret did generally not consider such questions appropriate, and certainly no one with connections to the templars had ever had to wrestle with the knowledge that the Hawke sisters were mages. While Aveline had not fretted too much about their apostasy when they were fleeing Fereldan together, now that they had a moment to pause and reflect, and now that the shadow of the Gallows fell over them, it seemed only natural for the warrior to begin wondering about it.

"Aveline," Mariel said in a subdued voice. "If you have a question, you can ask it. I have no wish to keep secrets from you."

Glancing sideways at the other members of Mariel's family, Aveline was satisfied that none of them were paying attention to the quiet conversation between herself and Mariel. Contented by that fact, she turned back to Mariel and said, "Did you ever consider giving yourself up to the Circle?"

Mariel shrugged. "The thought has crossed my mind." Her expression softened and she looked away, off towards the bits of sky she could see over the towering stone walls of the Gallows. The statues, sad and mournful shapes against their cold gray pillars, stood out to her eye like dark clouds on an otherwise clear horizon.

"Why didn't you?" Aveline pressed, though her voice was not as hard and compelling as Mariel knew it could be. The warrior was inviting Mariel to confide in her, but she was not demanding it. In the short time they'd spent together, Mariel could tell that Aveline had learned to care for the small family who had helped her escape from the horde. She probably thought she owed them her life, but in Mariel's mind, that debt was equally on their shoulders after her husband had saved Bethany. Whatever happened, Mariel knew she had found a friend in Aveline, and she was glad of it. The young mage felt she would need good friends to survive in this City of Chains.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Mariel sighed. "Obviously it wasn't a simple decision to make, but in the end… I guess I just didn't want to disappoint my family. It's always been so important to my father that we be free of the Circle. I didn't want to waste all the effort he put into giving us freedom to live our lives the way we want to."

Aveline nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

For three days the small group remained in the Gallows courtyard, waiting, wondering, watching. Mother and Bethany spent most of the time sitting with their backs to the steps, Carver and Aveline paced impatiently, and Mariel leaned against a wall with her eyes bent upwards, studying clouds and clear blue or just thinking. She told herself stories to pass the time, or drifted through memories that took on a melancholy hue now that the place she'd spent her whole life was gone, all those familiar places and people nothing but pictures in her mind.

On the third day of waiting, Gamlen finally appeared.

Having never seen him before, Mariel's first thought when he addressed her mother was that this gray-faced, grimy man couldn't possibly be the brother her mother had spoken of with such fondness. But then again, her mother was impossibly kind to people, always seeing the best in them. And it seemed, as Gamlen spoke, that times _had_ been better for their family. After the death of her grandparents, Gamlen had lost the estate, and now lived in Lowtown with barely enough money to get by, and of course nowhere near the money they'd need to bribe their way into the city.

With a sigh, Mariel shook her head. "Maybe we should just go to Cumberland or Starkhaven," she said as she looked pleadingly at her mother.

"No, there _must_ be a way to get into the city," Leandra said. "This is the only home we have now."

 _Or the only home_ you _have,_ Mariel thought. With the Gallows hanging over their head as it had for the past three days, Mariel had more than once felt that this city would inevitably become the very cage her father had always worked hard to keep Bethany and herself free of. The Circle was bound to be the result of associating themselves with a city that was so clearly influenced by the power of the templars. Wouldn't it be better for the family to move on? Still, no matter what she felt about the matter, Mariel would respect her mother's wishes. Leandra had lost so much, and Mariel didn't have it in her to refuse her now.

"Can you at least get Mother into the city?" Mariel asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. If they could not stay together, they'd need to get pragmatic fast. They didn't have the luxury of ideals anymore.

"We're staying together," Leandra said at once, her voice and look uncharacteristically stern. Her optimism was expected, but misplaced. Mariel didn't know how to get her mother to realize that Kirkwall did not want them, though.

Sighing, Mariel rubbed her forehead. This whole business—her mother's stubbornness, her family's general inflexibility, the incompatibility of Kirkwall when it came to life as an apostate—seemed completely hopeless. What were they going to do, sit here in the Gallows until the guards finally gave up and let them in, or drove them away with force?

"I was hoping to grease some palms, but the Knight-Commander's been cracking down," Gamlen said. "We're going to need more grease."

 _Your hair should be an abundant source,_ Mariel thought dryly, but she remained silent, waiting for him to fully expound his plan to acquire this _grease_. She couldn't imagine any plan he might come up with would be a good one, but it was worth lending an ear, at least.

"So you must have _something_ in mind to get us in," Carver said, obviously frustrated by all this cat and mousing their uncle seemed intent on. Glancing sharply at Gamlen, Mariel narrowed her eyes and waited for him to respond.

"I have contacts who are willing to pay your way into the city," Gamlen said. He hesitated, and then added, "The _catch_ is that you and your siblings will have to work off the debt. For a year."

"You want me to sell my children into servitude? For a whole year?" Leandra asked incredulously, her brows rising high over her bright, amber-colored eyes. Her indignation seemed out of place to Mariel, who felt that one year was barely any time in the grand scheme of things. One year to allow her mother to return to the only city she still had ties in didn't seem like a steep price.

"It's the best I could do. Trust me when I say you don't have many other options," Gamlen said, shaking his head and sighing heavily.

"I'm sure the year will be over before we know it," Mariel said with an optimistic smile. Sharing a look with Carver and Bethany, she saw they were both accepting of her opinion on this point, though neither looked particularly pleased by the idea.

"My contacts have come to meet you here," Gamlen said. "There's Meeran, who leads the Red Iron mercenary group, and then Athenril. She's what you might call a… a smuggler. They can both help you. All you need to do is talk to them and convince them you're worth the trouble."

Glancing from Mariel to the twins, Leandra frowned, uncertain. "I don't know about this, Gamlen," she said.

"It's a lot of coin, Leandra," Gamlen sighed. "Don't expect the Amell name to carry the weight it used to."

"And what of me?" Aveline asked. "I will not allow others to incur debts on my behalf."

"Can't see that it makes a difference," Gamlen responded, one brow rising slightly as he looked Aveline up and down. "You look like a lady who can pull her own weight."

Leandra looked at Aveline and smiled. "Then you'll come with us."

A subtle look of relief softened the features of the warrior's face. "I… have no real option. Thank you."

"Come on," Mariel said. "We might as well meet with these _contacts_ and see what our options are."

Leaving their mother and Gamlen at the base of the Gallows' steps, Mariel and the rest of her group walked across the courtyard. When they were out of earshot of Leandra, Mariel stopped and turned to her three companions.

"So, who are we leaning towards?" she asked. "The mercenary group or the smuggler?"

"Is that a genuine question?" Carver gave her a skeptical look. "We should go for the mercenaries. Smuggling is a shady bit of business."

"At least hired swords don't usually do… illegal things," Bethany agreed mildly.

" _Usually_ being the key word there." Mariel rubbed her jaw and glanced to her left. She could see a man standing in the shadows behind some of the pillars, a balding man dressed in red dyed armor that seemed to indicate he was part of his Red Iron group.

"Well, which would _you_ choose?" Carver demanded, shooting his sister a frustrated look.

With a sigh, Mariel shrugged. "I agree with you both. Life as a mercenary would be a bit more palatable than life as a career criminal. Still, I don't like the thought of potentially killing people for coin."

"We're just trying to survive," Carver said. "If that means we have to fight or kill some sorry bastards, then what choice do we have?"

Shoulders slumped, Mariel nodded. "You're right. We don't really have any other options."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Bethany sighed.

"Do what you have to, Hawke," Aveline said to Mariel. The warrior's support was appreciated, and Mariel smiled at her before she motioned for the group to follow her towards the balding man who, she decided, must be Meeran. The two mercenaries flanking him wore masks and cowls. They stood at a distance, arms crossed and eyes peering out from their hoods.

Still, it would behoove her to be sure this was the person they were looking for. "Are you Meeran?" she asked as she stepped in front of the man. He gave her a quick perusal and seemed to like what he saw.

"Ah, you're Gamlen's neice," he said. "Your uncle talked up a storm about you. Hope he isn't blowing more smoke out his ass."

"We're worth the investment," Mariel replied evenly.

"We'll see," Meeran said. "It's true that we aren't often offered the services of an apostate—let alone two of them. We're definitely willing to pay for that."

Bethany and Mariel shared a dark look. Then, turning back to Meeran, Mariel asked, "My uncle told you about that, did he?"

"He mentioned it," Meeran affirmed. "If we bring you on, you won't have to worry about templars while you're with us. We take care of our own, and we know how to keep you out of their sights."

Though she was not sure if he spoke the truth, Mariel figured it was as good a reassurance as they could expect to get.

"Our uncle doesn't seem the type to hang out with mercenaries," Bethany said from over Mariel's shoulder.

"He doesn't," Meeran said bluntly. "Gamlen cheated one of my men at a wallop match. If you prove worth the coin, we'll call it even."

"Well," Mariel said, not really knowing what else to say. She gave Carter, Bethany, and Aveline a quick look and then continued. "I think we're ready to prove we're worth it."

"Excellent." The man rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he looked Mariel up and down. Finally he said, "When it comes to the Red Iron, we choose our jobs, keep our noses clean, and we get paid well. But when someone screws with us, we put them down. A noble bastard named Friedrich is in the Gallows, probably looking for a ship to skip town. He gave us bad information. Nearly cost me some of my men. If he sees us coming, he'll run for sure. But he doesn't know you."

"I think I can see where this is going," Bethany murmured, glancing sideways at Mariel.

"Go kill him and his men," Meeran said. "We'll make sure no one asks why."

"Okay," Mariel said simply. She nodded to her siblings and Aveline and then led the way in the direction Meeran had indicated. As they stepped around the large pillared wall and into the subsection of the Gallows courtyard, she noticed a man pacing in one corner, surrounded by several guards, who watched him fidget with impassive expressions on their faces.

"Have you checked the courtyard again?" the fidgety man asked. From his dress, Mariel guessed this was Friedrich. He certainly looked like a noble, and from his nervous energy she assumed he was aware of Meeran's proximity.

"He's out there," one of the guards confirmed, "but he's alone. And he's not making a move, as far as we can tell."

Friedrich shook his head as he resumed pacing. "I don't trust this!" he exclaimed with a dark look. "What will we do when the ship comes?"

At that point, the small group of people became aware of Mariel approaching. Friedrich rounded on her, his entire body stiffening, his eyes sparking with suspicion. "Wait!" he said. "Who are you? I demand to know what you're doing here!"

 _Typical noble, assuming any area in his immediate proximity belongs to him,_ Mariel thought dryly. She eyed the guards, who seemed content on looming just behind their master, each of them giving tough looks as they flexed muscles and twitched fingers restlessly.

"Meeran sent them," one of the guards whispered with a sharp look at Mariel.

"I'm not an idiot, I can tell that much," Friedrich retorted. He frowned at Mariel and her companions and then spoke directly to them.

"I don't know what he's paying you, but I'll double it. Just leave me alone."

"He's my ticket into the city," Mariel said coolly. "And I doubt you'd be willing to pay that much to keep us off your tails."

"Mongrels," Friedrich spat between his teeth. "Guards, just take care of them!" he said to the men hovering just behind them.

Glancing hastily over her shoulder, Mariel saw that the courtyard was completely empty, at least for the moment. Clenching her fist, she summoned her magic, feeling it work its way through her blood to gather in her hand, and then she released it at them, lighting the first few men on fire, the blazes of which were quickly and discretely extinguished when Bethany sent a cone of ice into their faces. The brutal elemental attacks left them vulnerable, which was all the opportunity Carver and Aveline needed to finish the men off.

Again using her staff more or less as a poleaxe, Mariel swung and slashed her way through the group of guards until she stood before Friedrich. The noble was backed into a corner, his hands shaking and his eyes widening as he held his daggers firmly in his soft, pale hands. This was no true fighter. He'd probably never had to scrap for his life before, not once, and Mariel felt a surge of pity for the man, which was quickly extinguished when he began spitting curses at her. Swinging her staff around, she used it to glance his blades off to one side. When she did so, Bethany shot a powerful burst of ice from the tip of her staff. It flew past Mariel's shoulder and struck Friedrich full on in the chest, sending him flying back against the wall. The noble's body slumped to the ground, and Mariel finished him off with a slash of her staff-blade.

"Well," she said as she turned back to Carver and Aveline, who had effectively finished off the rest of Friedrich's guards. "That was easy."

"I'd almost feel sorry for the guy, if he wasn't such an ass," Carver said.

Wiping her staff-blade off on the nobleman's silk jacket, Mariel nodded. "Some people ask for what they get," she sighed.

"Come on," Aveline said abruptly as she sheathed her sword at her side. "We should get back to Meeran."

Mariel nodded and led the way back to the central courtyard, where Meeran waited for news of their target. As the small group approached, he said, "Well?"

"Friedrich's dead," she said simply.

"Good. May the vultures feast on his flesh and shit him into the ocean," the man muttered with a dark look.

"Right," was all Mariel deigned to say.

Holding up his arms in a welcoming manner, Meeran said, "Welcome to the Red Iron. Tell your uncle I'm making the arrangements now."

Mariel nodded and watched as the mercenary stalked off, followed by his two lackeys. Then she glanced at Carver, who stood just beside her.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go back to Gamlen and Mother and tell them the _good news_."

Together the group returned to the base of the steps, where Gamlen and Leandra were waiting for them.

"Well? How'd it go?" Gamlen asked. Beside him, Leandra pushed forward and began fretting over the specks of blood she saw on Carver's pant leg. While he tried to calm her down, Mariel addressed her uncle.

"You're looking at the newest Red Iron recruits," Mariel said with forced enthusiasm.

Nodding, Gamlen said, "I'll speak to Meeran and see when the bribes can be made. Wait here."

Mariel turned and watched as Gamlen crossed the courtyard. Her family gathered around her, Aveline on her left, her mother on her right, and her siblings just behind her.

"We made it," Bethany said, her voice thick with relief. "The voyage is over."

"Let's not run for our lives again unless we _really_ have to," Mariel joked. She was glad to see that at least Bethany seemed pleased by the attempt, but Aveline just looked off sadly, her eyes unseeing.

"I just wish Wesley could be here with us," she sighed.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Mariel gave her a small smile. "I'm sure he would be happy to know you're safe."

Their uncle was now crossing the courtyard towards Captain Ewald. As he began talking to the captain, Mariel felt the first deep sense of satisfaction and peace she'd experienced in what felt like ages. Turning to look over her shoulder, she smiled at the small group she'd traveled this far with.

"We're off to a good start," she said as optimistically as she could manage. "Now let's see what Kirkwall has to offer us, shall we?"

* * *

Author's Note:

Geez, this turned out to be a _long_ chapter. But I definitely knew what I wanted to get done, and I did it, so yay. Most of it's broken up pretty well, I think, so hopefully it wasn't too much for your poor eyes.

Again, this chapter follows relatively close to the events of the game. I tried to tweak some dialogue when it seemed appropriate, and to skim over things that didn't seem like they would add much, but on the whole I want to build off the foundation that the game provides, not entirely derivate from it. At least for the next chapter I will get the chance to break away from the expected (if only a little~), so I hope you look forward to that!

Thank you for reading the chapter, and I hope you really enjoyed it. Feedback in the form of favorites, follows, and reviews are always so appreciated! Hope 2016 is treating you well so far, dearies!

– Lion


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